


Start Again

by Signsofsam



Series: Make You Feel (My Love) [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fix-It, The continuing redemption of Jaime Lannister, post-8x04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 12:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Signsofsam/pseuds/Signsofsam
Summary: Brienne is with Sansa when the raven arrives, and she’s the one that comes to get him. From the look on her face, from her frown, he knows something’s wrong even before he asks, “What’s happened?”Cersei is dead, and King’s Landing is half gone, destroyed by dragon fire and a mad queen. He feels himself staggering.“I should have been there. With-”But he stops, because no, no he shouldn’t have. He’s in the exact place he needs to be, with Brienne, beingbetter.





	Start Again

**Author's Note:**

> Holy motherforking shirt! That _OMG! I wrote for the first time in seven years!_ has turned into two oneshots in just a few days? What? Do I thank D&D, because without them butchering Jaime, this probably wouldn't have happened? I'm so confused. 
> 
> Title is from _Start Again_ by One Republic feat. Logic, and the series title is from Adele's _Make You Feel My Love_.
> 
> This isn't beta-read, so apologies for any mistakes.

In the mornings, he helps with training in the yard. Not many people in Winterfell trust him, but he’s always been a superb swordsman, and that is invaluable. Right now, he instructs children, not just young boys, but girls as well, and he’s realizing how much he likes this particular job. He likes to think he's passing on his knowledge to the next great knight (the next Arthur Dayne, perhaps, or Barristan Selmy. Or Brienne of Tarth. Some part of his brain also supplies in the tiniest whisper _or Jaime Lannister_ , but he ignores it). Brienne is with Sansa when the raven arrives, and she’s the one that comes to get him, Pod trailing behind her, an ever-diligent squire. From the look on her face, from her frown, he knows something’s wrong even before he asks, “What’s happened?” 

“Lady Sansa would like to see you,” is all she’ll say, and seven hells, Jaime knows it’s bad if Sansa Stark is willing to have an audience with him. Since he decided to stay, to be with Brienne and be something more than the Kingslayer, they see each other in periphery, they greet each other with a deferential “Lady Stark” on his part and a stilted “Ser Jaime” on hers’, but they don’t talk. They share Brienne in common, and because of that, Sansa tolerates him in Winterfell, in her presence, but that’s the extent of their relationship. He takes a breath, smiling at his charges as Podrick steps in to take over, and then follows her. Instead of leading him inside, to the warmth of the council room, he follows her into the godswood.

Sansa is waiting in front of the giant weirwood, an unscrolled message clutched in her hand. She glances up as they come into view, and there’s sadness in her eyes, sadness for him, and she holds out the message. 

_ Oh, fuck _ .

Cersei is dead. King’s Landing is half gone, destroyed by dragon fire and a mad queen, by caches of wildfire under the city, the same wildfire he saved the city from once before. He feels himself staggering, the message falling from his hand, only half-read, and Brienne pushes him towards the bench. She picks up the message, handing it back to Sansa. “Jon Snow killed Daenerys; the Unsullied are holding him in the city, as their prisoner. Tyrion, too,” she tells him, clutching his hand tightly, the only thing keeping him grounded instead of floating in grief. “Jaime-”

“I should have been there. With-”

But he stops, because no, no he shouldn’t have. He’s in the exact place he needs to be, with Brienne, being  _ better _ . She squeezes his hand as he looks up at her, pressing their foreheads together. Later, when they’re alone and Jaime feels safe enough to be  _ himself _ , he’ll probably sob, but for now, he swallows the pain and the sadness, forces it into a cage inside, and turns his attention to Sansa. “Lady Stark-”

“I was cruel to you, before,” she interrupts, “Brienne told me I was unnecessarily cruel, and she’s right. I shouldn’t have been. I knew how much you loved your sister, and I...your family has hurt me in terrible, unspeakable ways, and I wanted to hurt you back, to repay you. But you are not your sister, or your father, or your son, and you didn’t fully deserve my ire. You came here when you didn’t have to, you fought for us--for Winterfell, and the North--when you could have been safe with your sister, and down south, and for that, I thank you.”

“Lady Stark-” She stops him by taking his hand from the safety of Brienne, and he focuses solely on her, this girl that he always thought was just like every other girl in King’s Landing, brain full of fluff and weak-willed and easily controlled. Just like Brienne, he seems to have underestimated her greatly. 

“It seems like our families have been enemies for forever, Ser Jaime, but I need your help now. I have to save Jon. And Tyrion. And all the Northmen that followed Jon south. But to do that, I need you.”

“I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“Brienne says I can trust you, just like she said we could trust you before the Long Night.” He’s looking down at his hand again, and startles when her hand covers his. “I trust you. Will you help me get them back?”

How can he say anything but yes?

\--//--//--

He sobs that night, into Brienne’s stomach as she runs her hands through his hair, down to stroke his back, murmuring that she’s so sorry. They’d been in the council room most of the afternoon, with Sansa and her advisers and even the wildlings, led by a sad-looking Tormund Giantsbane who glanced balefully every now and then to Brienne and him, planning for what was to come. For the first time in years, decades even, no one referred to him as anything but  _ Ser Jaime _ ; no one  snickered at him behind his back or insulted him to his face. They’d simply taken his suggestions into consideration and planned, for hours and hours into darkness, until he felt like he was coming apart at the seams, his grief clawing further and further out of the walls he had forced around it. Brienne had watched him slowly coming undone and finally suggested they all needed sleep, and led him to their room. He’d collapsed near the bed, and here they were, Jaime sobbing, Brienne comforting him.

But even as he cries, he realizes his grief isn’t the bone-deep, all-consuming sorrow he expects. His sister is dead, his first love is gone, but she didn’t take him to the grave with her, and he’s realizing, ever so slowly, that he’s grateful to be here still, living to fight another day, to have another chance.

Later, after he slowly strips Brienne out of her clothes, her hands aiding him when his gets caught in her laces, after he kisses her his thanks (for helping him and being with him and making him better and want to live in a world without Cersei), he slides into her, feels her nails in the skin of his shoulders, anchoring him. It’s nothing new; she likes to hold on to him-either her nails in his skin or her legs wrapped around him-when they fuck, and tonight, he’s glad she does. He winds his hand through her short hair, angles her head up so he can press kisses into her neck,  nip and bite the soft skin at juncture of her shoulder, and he feels her nails running down the length of his back until she’s grabbing his hips, urging them faster, harder- _ damn it, Jaime, I won’t break! _ -until he slams into her one more time, kissing her hard as she comes, and he does, too. He pulls away to watch her, and thinks  _ how did I ever think she was anything but beautiful _ ? Her face is flushed, eyes closed, mouth open in pleasure as her nails dig into him, keeping them together. She opens her eyes, and he smiles, leaning down to kiss her again. “I love you,” he murmurs, and while it’s not the first time he’s said it, it’s the first time he’s said the words while they’re like this.

The smile she gives him is almost as blinding as the one she gave him the night he knighted her, and she arches up to kiss him again. “I love you, too, you idiot.”

After he cleans them up and she’s laying curled at his side, head on his chest, one leg thrown over him, his left arm wrapped around her back, his hand trailing the faint scars on her shoulder, she sighs, and he knows what’s coming. “I really am sorry about Cersei. I know you love her, too.”

“Loved her,” he corrects gently, moving slightly to press a soft kiss on her forehead, her nose, her lips. “She was my first love. I don’t think she was meant to be my only, or my last.” 

And that’s that. Cersei is dead, and he refuses to let her pull him down again, too. He’s in a place that’s beginning to feel like home (even if it’s too cold and too...Northern); he’s got a woman he loves by his side, and he wants to live, in the here and now, with her.

**Author's Note:**

> First off-apologies on the sexy times writing. I don't think it's my forte. Also, there will be another part, because I now feel the need for some Jon and Jaime bromance. Also, while I'm happy dancing on the inside because _yeah, writing!_ , I'm also slightly terrified, anxiety-ridden ball of nervousness on the outside, so be kind if you review!


End file.
